Notes On A Winter Day

Flake.

Today I am aware of sounds; the roar of the fire, the crinkling of falling flakes, the cat dragging it's dish across the kitchen floor. I call my parents to make sure they are tucked away, out of the storm. They are out gallivanting and in wonderful spirits. I remind myself not to underestimate them. Over breakfast, one of us cracks a joke that sends us into fits. Neither of us can remember it. The varied thrush is at the feeder. He is a strictly foul-weather friend. The house has been thoroughly cleaned, as other chores have been postponed. The cook book lies open to "pies" on the kitchen counter, and everywhere, another cup of tea.

Picture:
www.RubyGoneWild.com

Soup Kitchen

Turkeys.

It has been three days of biting cold. Here on the hill, under the constant shade of Douglas firs we still have six inches of soft, powdery snow. Everything waits for the melt. Our house, with it's bird feeders tucked up under the eaves has become an oasis, a soup kitchen of sorts, for the wildlife. We have birds; more of those that are familiar and whole groups of new birds, wrens and flickers that are usually not so bold. During the day the deer linger around the house, eating the rhododendron leaves the birds have cleared of snow as they queue up for the feeders. At night families of raccoons sit outside on the deck munching on fallen seed. And we have turkeys. I woke this morning eye to eye with a pair of massive wild turkeys feasting under a high feeder with five or so of their friends. They are massive, imposing creatures, with apparently no other place to go. I am happy to provide this simple service.

Where is your small soup kitchen? What small service can you provide today?

Picture:

http://animacenter.org/blog/?p=1776